


Four Angels Walk Into a Café

by Fantismal



Series: Missing an Angel [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angels, Deleted Scene that didn't actually happen, Fluff, Gen, Timey-Wimey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-27
Updated: 2014-02-27
Packaged: 2018-01-13 22:18:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1242607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fantismal/pseuds/Fantismal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if the four lieutenants to the Archangels needed to get together to rant about their bosses on a regular basis?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Four Angels Walk Into a Café

**Author's Note:**

> This is a scene that never actually happened in _History of Heaven_ , but if it _had_ , it would have gone between chapters 11 and 12. It's just a bit of fluff posted in honor of HoH hitting 1000 views!
> 
> As a friendly reminder:  
> Filiel is Michael's lieutenant.  
> Azazel serves Sammael (Lucifer).  
> Marmoniel is Raphael's right hand.  
> Cariel is Gabriel's favorite.

“You look absolutely shattered.”

Filiel stared dully at Azazel, not even blinking. He looked like he was being held up by a string running through his spine, all his limbs just sort of _there_ but not actually functioning.

Cariel kicked the seat beside him out, and Filiel dropped gratefully into it. His head thunked against the table, and he gave a long, low groan.

“Waiter?” Marmoniel raised her hand, flagging down a passing waiter. “Hi, could we have an extra caramel macchiato for our fourth? And, uh, add a little extra to it.” She made a subtle gesture with her hand, little finger and thumb out, to indicate Filiel’s needed to be bolstered with a bit of alcohol.

Azazel snorted into his own drink. “If Fil gets booze, why are we bothering with coffee?”

“Because we’re technically still working?” Cariel offered.

“When aren’t we?” Marmoniel retorted, rolling her eyes as she sipped her own latte.

“Michael will never notice, anyway,” Cariel reasoned as the waiter returned with Filiel’s coffee. “Fil needs the extra boost just to get back to normal.”

“What did Michael do this time, anyway?” Marmoniel asked, as Filiel closed both hands around his mug and took a deep breath of the steam.

“Panic attack.” Filiel took a large gulp of the hot drink, ignoring the temperature and savoring the burn. This waiter would be getting a very nice tip. “No thanks to Sammael.” He shot Azazel a dark look.

“Hey!” Azazel leaned back in his chair, holding up one hand. “We agreed, what those two do together is their own business. We don’t regulate that shit. I’ve got enough on my plate trying to wrangle him normally.”

“No, it’s not your fault, I know that. It’s just…” Filiel groaned again. “ _Why_ didn’t we notice what was going on with their vessels?”

“I thought you were watching them!”

“You’re the one who suggested it!”

“Hey!” Cariel reached out to slap both his brothers on the shoulders, shaking his head. “That argument’s centuries old. Drop it already!”

Both Azazel and Filiel fell silent for a few minutes, and all four lieutenants just spent the time sipping at their drinks.

“You think Michael’s bad, you should try working for Raphael,” Marmoniel finally offered. “Don’t get me wrong, I love the guy, but he’s on a hair trigger. Malachi almost dropped his sword when Raphael was walking past. I mean _almost_! He caught it! Doesn’t matter. Raphael fired him on the spot. I was lucky to catch him and shunt him into a Dominion position.”

“Wasn’t Malachi your favorite Seraph?” Cariel asked, frowning at Marmoniel.

“Brilliant angel, quick learner, sharp as a tack!” she agreed, slamming her mug down on the table in frustration. “He only got promoted last century! I’ve spent all these years shaping him into exactly the sort of assistant I needed, and _bam_! Off with his head!” She flung her hands up in frustration. “And Raphael will never change his mind, because that’s a sign of weakness!”

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, Gabe’s on a manic streak.” Cariel slouched forward, massaging his forehead with thumb and forefinger. “ I had to stop him from setting off eight volcanoes around the Pacific this past week. _Eight_! He’s itching for some heat, so I sent him on a trip to the Sun. Should take him all of sixteen minutes or so. I hope it’s enough to wear him out. I’m running out of ways to distract him from hot cones of fire and molten rock.”

“Has he-” Azazel began, but Cariel cut him off with one lifted hand.

“And no, he hasn’t been binging on the sugar again. I’ve taken that away from him.”

“Caffeine?” Filiel suggested, looking into his mug. “Maybe he’s figured out where we go and come visiting himself.”

“Dad, I hope not,” Cariel groaned. “Last thing I need is for him to follow me here.”

“Sammael’s ripping holes in the fabric of time and space.” Azazel announced this as casually as he would the weather, picking up his frappuccino again. All three other lieutenants stared at him. “What?” the golden-eyed Seraph asked. “It’s _Sammael_.” As if that could explain everything.

Actually, it did a fairly good job of it. Sammael was not known for his caution.

“He does realize,” Filiel began slowly, “that time and space aren’t meant to have holes, right?”

“I have given him that lecture,” Azazel said with a firm nod. “Three times. When I tried the fourth, Sammy told me that if mentioned space, time, or fabric again, he’d muzzle me with my own wings.”

“Is that all you’ve done?” Cariel demanded.

“Yes,” Azazel answered sarcastically. “I gave him a lecture, then I sat back and allowed him to destroy the universe. Of course it’s not!”

“Has anything worked?” Marmoniel asked, leaning over her latte.

“Not really.” Azazel closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’ve at least stabilized the rips, so nothing’s going to collapse on itself. Sammael likes to go off and tinker in this new plane he opened up. He fancies himself a Creator, like Father.”

“Ugh,” Filiel groaned, reaching across the table to pat Azazel’s arm. “My sympathies, little bro. When Michael starts thinking he’s the center of the universe…” He trailed off shaking his head.

“Archangels,” Cariel grumbled. “Can’t do a thing with them.”

“Can’t live without them,” Marmoniel pointed out.

Azazel just snorted again and lifted his cup toward the center of the table. The other three raised their own mugs, tapping them together. “Here’s to us.”

“The seconds who keep the firsts in line.”

“Cheers.”


End file.
